Seek Not My Heart
by The Iman Lestrange
Summary: Ch. 4. Severina Snape has always loved Evan Lillian - she just wishes she had the courage to tell him. An AU challenge, featuring girl!Snape and boy!Lily, and a look at their relationship, had they been born the opposite gender. EDITED AND REWRITTEN!
1. It's Obvious, Isn't It?

(**Disclaimer****:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers, including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **Translation**: _If I owned this, do you really think I'd be posting it __here__?_)

(**Author's Note**: Any text that is recognizable in this chapter belongs to J.K. Rowling, for I have lifted text directly from chapter thirty-three of **Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows**, _The Prince's Tale_. The borrowed text can be found on pages 663 through 665.)

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**SEEK NOT MY HEART

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**

_By persistently desiring the unattainable, _ _  
one weakens oneself without attaining anything._**  
UNKNOWN

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**I. **Isn't Obvious, Isn't It?

_JULY 1969_

"Evan, _no_ – don't do it!"

From the secrecy of the clump of bushes she kneels behind, her dark eyes watch avidly as the two siblings swing together on the rusted swingset. The young boy goes higher and faster than his older sister, his face glittering in the sparkling summer sun with joy. As his legs pump faster and faster and his swing soars higher and higher, the boy seems to be preparing himself for something.

Then, just as his swing reaches as high as it is able to go –

His hands release their secure hold on the dull grey chains and he sails lithely into the air.

For a brief moment, she thinks that he might plummet downwards and crash onto the loose asphalt below him – yet, he doesn't. Instead, he continues to arc towards the wide expanse of ocean-blue sky, his face alight with an utter sense of enjoyment, and then, far past the time which he should have dropped from the air, he gracefully touches down upon the warm grass several meters away from his sister. He spins around once, musical laughter bubbling from his smiling face.

His sister, however, does not seem to share his unabashed joy, and now stands with her hands on her narrow hips. "Mummy said you weren't supposed to, Evan!"

"Ah, nothing happened to me, Tuney." Evan says, waving a dismissive hand towards her but retaining his joyous smile. His brilliant jade green eyes, which she can see clearly even at her distance, searches the playground keenly, and then his eyes land on what he seems be looking for. "Come and see this, Tuney – watch!" She has no time to move or get out of the way as Evan sprints towards her, his rich auburn hair rippling away from him in the breeze and his face alight with anticipation.

He has noticed her and is now coming to pick on her, she is sure.

She is certain that the eager look on his face as he skids to a halt is because he is about to do as all the other kids in the neighborhood do whenever they spot her. However, as his hand reaches out and grazes the bush, instead of grabbing her by her lank, greasy hair and jerking her from her hiding spot, his fingers pluck a budding rose from the bush and holds it out to his sister.

"Look at this, Tuney!" he beckons to Tuney, who is standing a little ways away with her hands still on her hips. But, blended with the obvious look of disapproval is a certain hesitancy. Evan seems sense this, and assures her, "Come on now, I just want to show you something."

Tuney walks towards her brother. As soon as she is close enough, Evan extends his hand even further towards her; he is turned towards her enough that she can see the budding flower he holds it in his open palm, and her stomach leaps with excitement as she observes the previously unremarkable flower. Its rich crimson petals are now opening and closing lazily in the sunlight, much in the same way that the magical photographs in her grandparents' house do.

"Stop that!" Tuney takes a step back, but is still unable to tear her eyes away from the enchanted flower. "Quit whatever it is you're doing!"

Evan rolls his eyes, and clamps his hand around the flower. "It isn't as though it's hurting you."

"But, it isn't right!" Tuney declares, her eyes watching as Evan tosses the crumpled blossom down to ground. She stares flower for a moment, then wistfully asks, "How…how do you do it, Evan?"

Now – the perfect opportunity is right here, the perfect moment to do what she has been planning to do for months. She makes her decision at the exact moment that Evan opens his mouth, and before he can say a word, Severina Snape leaps out of the bushes in a burst of leaves and flowers.

"Well, it's quite obvious, isn't it?" Severina declares, her heart thudding against her chest excitedly.

Neither Evan or Tuney expects her sudden appearance, as is obvious by Tuney's shriek. But where the blonde girl runs back towards the swings, Evan stays where he is. He is clearly startled, though, Severina can tell – especially if his widened jade-green eyes and the step back he takes is any indication.

"What's obvious?" he asks her, warily.

She spares at glance at Tuney, and gauging that she is far enough away, Severina steps closer to Evan, and in a low voice declares, "I know what you are."

Evan wrinkles his nose in confusion. "What d'you mean you _know what I am_?"

"You're…" Severina is beginning to realize that this might have been a terrible idea, as her sallow cheeks flush a deep pink. "_You're a wizard_."

For several seconds, there is an intense silence between the two of them. And, then, just as Severina fears, Evan takes another step back, this one wider and more pronounced than the first.

His expression quite plainly tells her he considers her to have gone around the bend.

"Yeah, okay." Evan snorts. He turns and runs back towards where his sister stands holding onto one of the swing poles, throwing another disdainful glance at her over his shoulder. "Come on, Tuney – let's go home."

"No, wait – " Severina takes off after him, the overly long skirt she wears dancing around her feet wildly. "You _are_ a wizard. I know – I know because I've been watching you a while now, and I've seen what you can do – and I'm a witch, and so is my mum, but you're a boy, so that means you're a wizard – "

Tuney's derisive laughter slices through Severina's rambling words, sharp and piercing like a blade. "A _witch_!" Her hands are still curled tightly around the swing pole, but she seems to have gathered her wits about her again, and is now sneering at Severina with no little amount of contempt. "_I_ know who _you_ are. You're that awful Snape girl! They stay down on Spinner's End, by the river," she directs towards her brother, who is looking at Severina with an unreadable expression. "Why have you been spying on us?"

Severina colors, heat flaring in her face in a combination of indignation and embarrassment. "I ain't been spying on you!" It is her turn to sneer now, as she stares down her prominently hooked nose, and adds, "Not that I would want to spy on you – _you're_ nothing but a _Muggle_.:

Tuney blinks her ice-blue eyes, clearly not understanding the word, but definitely catching on to the tone in which Severina has said it. Evan, too, realizes the contempt in the unfamiliar word. Where there was once an unreadable expression, there is now a blistering glare.

"You leave my sister alone, Snape!" Evan draws himself up to his full height, and reaches for his sister's hand. "Come on, Tuney. We're _going home_."

Evan and Tuney begin briskly walking towards the playground gate, leaving Severina standing alone by the swings. However, as he walks through the gate, Evan glances over his shoulder and appraises Severina with the same unreadable look as before, his jade-green eyes sparkling with something that she can't quite put her finger on. As the gate slams close with a ring of finality, Severina sighs heavily, and kicks a rock with the worn tip of her Mary Jane.

Well, _that_ had gone quite pleasantly, hadn't it?

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(**Author's Note**: This fic is a response to a challenge over the S.S. Always over at FictionAlley Park, wherein Severus and Lily switch genders – having been born that way, as oppose to a magical accident – as well how their relationship might have been different if they were the opposite gender.

This is also my first attempt at Severus/Lily fanfic of any kind, so let me know what you think – although Severus is Severina and Lily is Evan…)


	2. Our Secret Spot

(**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **Translation**_: I'm not blonde, I'm not Scottish, I don't have more money than God, so therefore…I don't own Harry Potter_.)

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**SEEK NOT MY HEART

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**

_A friend is someone who understands your past,  
believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are._  
**UNKNOWN**

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**II.** Our Secret Spot

_JULY 1969_

From out of nowhere, it seems, a blanket of churning storm clouds gather in the previously sparkling blue sky, and brood for four long days.

The summer breeze blows harder and slightly colder, the birds go haywire in anticipation of the downpour, and there is a general air of desolation about the neighborhood. Yet, nothing happens, not a single drop of rain or bolt of lightening breaks from the layers of clouds until the very day that Evan Lillian decides to seek out the Snape girl. It is then, and only then, that the sky opens up as though someone has pulled the stopper out of the bathtub and everything is assaulted by wave after wave of fierce rain.

For another three days, while the storm takes it precious time easing over the land, Evan can do little but sit at the window and watch the world wait out the storm. His days consists of sitting at various windows in the house, somehow hoping the rain would simply _stop_. His nights are filled with laying under a bundle of covers staring out of the darkened window and listening to the rain crash against the window in erratic rhythms.

And the entire time, his questions and hopes are threatening to burn a hole directly through him.

For the most part, he knows that there is no such thing as witches and wizards. He knows that even if they do exist – which Tuney adamantly denies, which Mummy seriously agrees and Daddy gently assures - that they only live in the pages of the fairytales in his books and on the telly. He knows that there isn't any possible way that he could be a wizard.

But, there is also a little part which encourages the idea.

After all, what other reason is there for his ability to fly without wings? What other answer is there for why he makes music boxes chime as he passes by them? How else would he be able to will flowers to grow and shrink? Why else would his broccoli and cheese disappear on those awful nights that Mummy serves it alongside her wonderful roast chicken?

He has always known that he is different from Tuney and Mummy and Daddy. He and Tuney might have the same slender build. He and Mummy might have the same rich auburn hair. He and Daddy might have the same brilliant, jade green eyes. But, they aren't able to make things happen like he can – otherwise, Mummy wouldn't be so upset when he sends the broken pieces of a plate or glass back together, Tuney wouldn't shriek at him with disapproval when he jumps from the swing and soars through the air like a bird, and Daddy wouldn't look at him funny when he passes by the antique music boxes in the hall and they begin chiming cheerfully without having been opened.

Only the Snape girl seems to know what it is like to make things happen – although, he isn't quite sure he believes her declaration of witches and wizards.

Finally, on the seventh day following his encounter at the playground – on the thirty-first, the last day of July – the rain lets up, the clouds clear away, and the sun sparkles as brilliantly as ever. Evan decides that today will be the day that he finds the Snape girl – rain _or_ shine.

After breakfast – which he is glad to escape from because Tuney has invited her friend, Yvonne, over for the weekend and they are acting like such _girls_ – he wanders along the damp and muddy roads until he reaches the playground.

His heart sinks slightly when he notices that it is, unfortunately, quite empty.

For a moment, he wonders whether or not he should turn around and go back home. But, then, the thought of Tuney and Yvonne and their _giggling_ rings in his mind, and he decides that maybe if he waits, the Snape girl will come by.

So, he waits.

And waits.

And waits a bit more.

And waits even longer.

The sun is now directly overhead, sparkling and glittering merrily upon the damp earth in hopes of restoring it to its previous dryness, and Evan feels his stomach tingling with hunger. He has been waiting for _hours_, quite likely, and there hasn't been one sign of her stringy figure, her tangles of midnight black hair, or her prominent hooked nose. Only a few more moments, he promises himself, and if she doesn't show, he will carry himself home and endure an entire afternoon of girls and giggling.

But, a few more moments passes by on the wings of the twittering flock of blue-jays that sail over his head towards the smokestack in the distance, and still, Evan sits on the swing, waiting.

He knows that by now, Mummy is probably beginning to wonder and Tuney and Yvonne are probably annoyed that they can't yet eat lunch. But, he has wait only a few more moments – he knows that she'll come, he can _feel_ it.

And, sure enough, after another hour of waiting and silence, the sullen sound of footsteps sloshing through the muddy lane reaches his ears. His head snaps up expectantly and his eyes are trained on the figure slowly making its way towards him. And, though he isn't quite sure _why_, his heart soars as the Snape girl moodily kicks as the murky water she sloshes through. Finally, after seven long days of waiting and wondering, he will get his questions answered!

Evan gets to his feet as the Snape girl moodily kicks the playground gate open, and the sound of his standing makes a mournful groaning sound. Intense jade green eyes connect with surprised onyx black eyes for several long seconds, before the black eyes break connect and focus on the ground.

"Hello." Evan says quietly, taking a couple of tentative steps toward her.

It takes a few moments, but he gets a reply. "Hi."

A bird whistles cheerfully in the awkward silence that spans an entire minute. Evan wants to blurt out his flood of anxious questions – _Am I really a wizard? Are you really a witch? Is there really such a thing as magic? How are you sure I am a wizard? _- but he bites them back, instead choosing to start off with the easiest question of all.

"Um, well – what's your name?"

They hadn't exactly gotten off to a good start the other day, he realizes, and though Tuney said her name was "Snape" he highly doubted that there was any parent on earth cruel enough – even Tobias and Eileen Snape, who both his parents disapproved of, even his kind and understanding father who never said anything bad about anyone until he had met them for himself - to bestow upon their daughter a name such as "Snape". He waits patiently for her to reply, though his questions are practically threatening to burn a whole through his chest.

"Sev – Severina."

Evan cannot help but blink. He was expecting something utterly unassuming and as lifeless as she was – Doris, Eunice Edna, Mabel. But…_Severina_. He turns it over in his mind several times, and it surprised at how it curls around his sense like a bittersweet fragrance. He eyes her for several long moments, and then, experimentally, he speaks her name aloud.

"Severina." Evan is surprised how much more intriguing it sounds aloud. "_Severina_."

"Oh, go ahead and get it over with if you're going to do it." Severina mutters, morosely. She does not look up from the puddle she has been steadily kicking at for the past few moments, so much so that it is now a muddy groove in the ground.

Evan frowns. "Do what?"

Her foot pauses ever-so-briefly as her entire body stills. Then, she resumes kicking, but at a pace that is far more rapid and jerky than before. "Take the mickey about my name."

"I wasn't." Evan assures her. "I actually like it, to be honest. It sounds a lot better than my name, at least." With a frown, he proclaims with no little amount of disgruntlement, "Evan_ Lillian_."

Severina stops kicking, and looks up through a curtain of lank, tangled hair the color of midnight. "I like your name, too. It's…it's…" she grapples for a compliment, the effort seeming to elicit a rush of color in her sallow, gaunt cheeks. Finally, she can't seem to settle on anything that sounds cool and effortless, and lamely offers, "It's pretty."

Two sparkling, jade green eyes narrow, and Evan can feel his nose tilting in the air. "It is not suppose to be _pretty_. I'm a bloke, and blokes aren't suppose to be pretty or cute or anything like that."

He knows that she probably doesn't mean it in the same way that the boys at school do, when they are taking the mickey – _nancy lily boy, girly lily pad, little pretty lily boy_. But, he can't help but get up in arms. Of all the injustices in the world, of all the unfair and mean things in life, Evan quite firmly believes that having a name that can be in any way perceived as _pretty_ is the worst of them. At least Mummy and Tuney are girls, and as such, are quite expected to be pretty or cute or flowery. But, he and Dad, on the other hand – well, to say the least, there is nothing manly about having _Lillian_ as a part of your name.

However, he has not come here to get his hackles raised over his name nor to glare down a girl whom he needs to stick around. So, with a sigh, he shrugs and steps closer.

"I do suppose that if Dad can wear it well, than I can, too." Evan murmurs, more to himself than to Severina. "But, that doesn't matter anyhow. Um, I…I was waiting here and hoping that you would come by today."

Severina sucks in a sharp breath of air. Something he can't quite place glitters in her depthless eyes, something that could maybe be pleased surprise or incredulous hope, maybe. "How come?"

"Well, I was…was wondering about what you said the last time I saw you." Evan is surprised at how shy he sounds – usually, he doesn't get as bothered and uncomfortable with people as Dad sometimes does, even though he is a university professor. "I was wondering if what you said is true. Am I really and truly and actually a – "

Severina suddenly seemed to have inhaled a beam of pure and glowing sunshine, for when her head snaps up and her eyes meet his, they are the most intense shade of black he has ever seen before in his life. She seems to be alive, she seems to be breathing – and, before Evan can so much as smile at her sudden and most welcome change in attitude, she springs forward and latches onto his wrist, tightly.

"Not here," she says, in a low and intense voice. "Come with me."

Though she is smaller, her narrow frame seeming to swim in the worn and faded sundress and her height falling a significant inch or two below his own, Severina has no problem jerking him forward and leading him towards the farthest edge of the playground, where there is a large stretch of lawn leading to a clump of bushes. The same bushes she so unexpectedly leapt out of the other day, he vaguely recalls.

"Hey, wait now! Where are we going?" Evan slows, making it slightly more difficult for her to drag him along.

"I have…" Severina hesitates, "I have a secret spot, a place by the river where I go all the time."

"Well, why do we have to go there?" Evan likes the river as much as the next boy, the frogs and little guppies and other little water-life interesting enough to spend hours around. But, despite this, he slows even more so, and Severina actually _jerks_ at him in an effort to keep him moving. "How come we can't talk right here?"

"Because," – another jerk at his wrist, a small grunt of exasperation – "because we will be in trouble if we're overheard by Muggles."

_Muggle_.

It is the same word that she so callously called Tuney the other day, the name that made Tuney's mouth thin into the narrow line which meant she wasn't happy, the word which made him rethink his decision to approach her more than once over the past week. This time, it is Evan who jerks at his wrist, and it is instead in an effort to get away.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." It is no little surprise that his breath did not crystallize in the air, as exceptionally frost his voice was.

This time, the surprise that flashes in her eyes at his inexplicable shift in attitude is indeed rather hurt. Evan feels a measure of satisfaction. It serves her right, he thinks, for calling Tuney names and making her unhappy.

"Why not?" she murmurs. A slight tremble to her voice, but no tears brimming in her eyes as would with any other girl he knew.

"Because, you keep using that _word_, and I don't know what it means, but whatever it is, it made Tuney upset." Evan crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes so chilled they glittered like hardened chips of jade stone. "I'm not going to follow after _anyone_ who calls _my sister_ names."

"But, it isn't – it's not a bad word!" Severina rushes to assure him, almost frantic. "It just means that she isn't like _us_."

More blistering than a branding iron fresh from a pit of coals, more searing that swallowing several mouthfuls of raw fire, Evan feels his craving for answers and explanation slicing through his icy indignation and melting his resolve like a sheet of ice.

The way Severina says _us_, Evan just knows that she doesn't just mean the two of them – him and her, boy and girl – but the two of them included in another group that is far more exclusive and far more different from Tuney will ever be. He searches her eyes, which are sparkling with that same intense look before. He doesn't want to be friends with someone who doesn't accept his sister or his parents. He doesn't want to be friends with someone who just wants _him_, and not everything that comes with him. But, on the other side of the coin, Evan wants more than anything to be with someone who accepts the weird things that happens when he is around, not demand that he makes them stop. He wants to be friends with someone who wants him, as well as all the oddities and unexplainable occurrences that come with him.

He wants more than anything to be friends with someone who _understands_.

And, for all her lifelessness, for all her unkempt appearance, for all her spite and coldness towards his Tuney, Severina Snape seems to be that person.

Evan studies her for a moment longer, and his insides seem to contract with in anticipation. He unfolds his arms, stuffs his hands into the pockets of the jacket which Mummy made him wear before allowing him to go outside.

"When you say Tuney isn't like _us…_do you mean that she isn't…she doesn't…she doesn't have…_magic_?"

Her black eyes flash brilliantly once more, and with a quick flitting motion of her hand, she beckons for him to follow after her.

"Not here, I said. We have to go to my secret spot – _our_ secret spot."

A rush of warmth swells inside of him and seems to softly dances around his very bones. He can't help but allow a small smile to tug at his lips as he follows Severina through the sweetly scented bushes and eagerly walks behind her towards their secret spot.

Our secret spot.

For once in his entire nine years, Evan Lillian feels as though he has finally found someone who _understands_.

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(**Author's Note**: Another chapter that has made me remarkably happy. I must apologize in advance, though, if something seems off, or whatever. It has been nearly a decade since I was a nine-year-old, and it has been close to forever that I've never been a nine-year-old boy. So forgive me if the dialogue or tone seems far more ahead of what a nine-year-old usually says and thinks like. The next chapter will be in Severina's POV, so I'm certain that it will flow more easily than this chapter did, if it seems off to any of you.

Please, drop a review or two and tell me what you think!)


	3. Whose Spying Now?

(**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **Translation**: Mournfully, none of this wonderfulness belongs to me. I am slowly working through this devastation in therapy.)

(**Author's Note**: Any text recognizable in this chapter belongs to J.K. Rowling, for I have lifted text directly from chapter thirty-three of **Harry Potter and the**** Deathly Hallows**, _The Prince's Tale_. The text can be found on the pages 666 through 668.)

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**SEEK NOT MY HEART

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_The jealous find bring down the curse they fear upon their own heads._**  
DOROTHY DIX

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**III. **Who's Spying Now?

_OCTOBER 1969_

She wants this moment to last forever.

The river could stop flowing, the sun could cease to shine, the wind could never blow again, and the birds could all fall forever silent, but so long as this one moment in time remains as it is – private, uninterrupted, and between the two of them – none of that would bother her. In fact, nothing can bother her here, in the timeless confines of the secret spot she shares with him. Here, surrounded by a thicket of trees, covered by the canopy of rich green leaves and soothed by the tinkling melody of the glittering river, nothing matters and nothing can hurt her.

Not her grandparents and their snide disdain for her Muggle father and her Muggle upbringing. Not her mother and her total lack of concern about anything and everything around her. Not her Muggle father and his drunken tirades about her and her mother's _fucking worthlessness_ as witches. Not the snide and cruel kids at school and about the neighborhood who laugh at her for her mismatched, ill-fitting clothing, tease her about her unkempt appearances, and shun her when she unexpectedly unleashes her magic in response to their bullying.

As she sits here facing the attentive and enraptured Evan Lillian, the outside world ceases to exist, and the only thing she can think about is how those brilliant and mesmerizing green eyes are looking at her as though she is the most amazing creation on earth.

She barely notices that Evan has asked her a question, until he snaps his fingers in front of her face a couple of times.

"Hello in there," chants Evan, his lips curved in a grin. He waggles his fingers at her, as he declares, "Earth to Severina Snape!"

Severina blushes in spite of herself, then shifts her gaze downwards, to the hole in her skirt her fingers have begun worrying. "Sorry," she murmurs. "I was, um – just thinking."

"About what?" asks Evan, and he sounds genuinely interested.

For one second, the words simmer behind her lips, and she almost tells – _everything_. How wonderful she thinks his eyes are, how she thinks he is the handsomest boy she has ever seen, how she thinks that he is the most perfect person she has ever met in her life.

But, she says none of that.

Someone as clever, handsome, and perfect as Evan is will only laugh at her, not tell her all of those things in return. She does not need to be reminded that she is ugly, that she is worthless, and that she does not deserve to be friends with a boy like Evan Lillian.

Her voice is carefully neutral, as she casually confesses, "Nothing, really. Did you ask me something?"

Evan looks at her for one long moment, then shrugs. "I was asking you about the rules again. You know, what we can and can't do with magic."

"Oh." Severina wonders why he wanted to revisit this mundane topic. But, she can admit that she doesn't care. She would tell him _anything_ he wanted to know about _anything_ in the world, so long as he asked her while looking at her with those mesmerizing green eyes. "Well, for one thing, you can't do it in front of the Muggles. That's been illegal for _ages_, ever since the Wizarding Seclusion Act. You see, a long time ago, wizards could live out in the open, they could do magic in front of anyone they wanted to. But, pretty soon, the Muggles started getting scared and started trying to get rid of us. So, we all went into Seclusion around the…can't remember, exactly, but it was probably hundreds of years ago. Lots of things magic are right in front of the Muggles, but they don't look properly, so they don't see it."

"Well, what happens if you do magic in front of Muggles?" wonders Evan.

"You can get in a fair bit of trouble with the Ministry. If your an adult, you will probably get fined and maybe even taken to jail, depending on what kind of magic you did or if you did magic to hurt them. And, if you're still at Hogwarts, you aren't allowed during the hols; they are able to find you if you do, and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside of school, you get letters."

The enraptured look melts away into one of panic. Evan looks stricken, his jade green eyes glittering with worry, as he exclaims, "But, I _have_ done magic outside of school!"

Severina waves away his worries dismissively. "We're all right. We haven't got wands yet. They let you off when you're a kid and you can't help it. But once you're eleven," she declares, with an important nod, "and they start training you, then you've got to go careful."

Evan exhales in relief.

A silence that is not wholly uncomfortable floats in between the pair of them, and Severina cannot help but allow herself to hungrily drink in everything about the boy in front of her. For nearly three glorious months, she and Evan have been meeting here in their secret spot, and Severina can say with certainty that they have been the best three months of her entire life. And, the best part about it is that Evan is unlike any other children she has meet before.

He does not seem to care that she does not have nice clothes or new shoes or that she lives in the seedy, rundown part of the town. He does not seem to care that her hair is often unwashed and tangled or that she does not get to wash daily, because Daddy doesn't have a job and spends what little money they have on liquor and fags, so the water note often goes unpaid.

Rather, he cares about if she has had breakfast or lunch that day or where the purplish bruises that her overly large clothes don't always hide have come from. He cares about if Daddy and Mother have stopped fighting or if Daddy has a job yet. He cares about whether or not she is still getting picked on by the snide and spoilt Suzy Polkiss and her awful cronies or if she needs someone to walk down to the corner-store with her to fetch Daddy a pint of liquor from the weedy owner, who has no problem selling it to her on behalf of her father, so long as she can pay.

He cares about _her_ – plain, impoverished, worthless, half-Muggle Severina Snape – and that is far more than Severina could have ever hoped for from a boy like Evan Lillian.

Severina watches him wistfully as his slender hand crawls across the grass like a lazy spider, and picks up a twig the must have fallen from one of the trees. Thoughtfully, Evan flourishes the stick, and from the wistful look in his sparkling eyes, Severina realizes that he must be imaging that is it a wand. She cannot help but shiver at the thought of what a powerful and great wizard Evan will be in a few years time. She has known from the first time she saw him from her spot nestled in the bushes that he has loads of magic, and she can't wait until she is able to see him with an actual wand, performing great feats of magic and exuding that raw power that she feels coming off of him in waves.

Suddenly, Evan drops the twig, and leans forward, his eyes boring into hers intensely. Severina gasps slightly, and it takes a great deal of effort to focus on what he is saying, instead of the mesmerizing jade green pools she wants nothing more than to drown in.

"It _is_ real, isn't it? It's not a joke?" Evan demands, in an ardent whisper. There are equal doses of doubt and hope, as he adds, "Petunia says you're lying to me. Petunia says there isn't a Hogwarts. It _is_ real, isn't it?"

Underneath the warm, tingling feeling that she always get when in his presence, a sudden burst of acrid hate and fury springs up within her. That_ Muggle_, she thinks distastefully. She has only come across the girl personally a handful of times, but she already knows that Petunia Evans is the same sort of Muggle as Daddy is: ignorant, mean, and snide.

Never in living memory has Tobias Snape had anything pleasant or even remotely indifferent about his wife and daughter's magical talents, and there are even times when he becomes violent because of it, such as the night before last, when she was helping Mother wash the dishes – the Muggle way, she remembers, disdainfully – and the plate slipped from her soapy hands and crashed to the floor. Fearful that the noise would offset Daddy, who had been sitting on the ratty couch all day with a bottle of amber liquid clutched in his hands and watching the telly, Severina willed the plate to fix itself, and it _did_.

But, that had set Daddy off anyhow, and the angry red welt across her face borne from his furious slap, which still had not healed almost two days later, was a bitter reminder of why she couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts, where her magic would be appreciated, normal, and praised.

She is almost certain that Evan's mum and dad don't hit or punish him because of his magic. But, she supposes that they are uneasy and skeptical about his unknown and presently uncontrollable abilities. She knows for a fact, though, that Petunia does not believe that magic exists and tells this to Evan every chance she can get.

But, some ignorant Muggle is not going to make Evan's magic – which he has such an intoxicating amount of – go away, nor will it make his future at Hogwarts and in the Wizarding world become a nonexistent lie. Severina hastens to assure Evan of this, and leans forward, her midnight eyes burning with an intensity that seems too huge to fit into her thin, spindly body.

"It's real for us. Not for her." Severina declares, firmly. "But, we'll get the letter, you and me."

Evan looks reassured, but only slightly so. His voice is hopeful, as he murmurs, "Really?"

"Definitely."

In fact, Severina can almost see it as she sits on the warm blanket of grass in the quiet summer afternoon – the two of them, her and Evan, standing together on Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters, boarding the Hogwarts Express, and snaking through the countryside northwards, to the huge and majestic castle that she has yet to see, but knows is amazing. They will be Sorted, hopefully into the same House, though Severina isn't sure that Slytherin will be allow the Muggleborn Evan in, and then, they will go on to become the most powerful witch and wizard that Hogwarts and the Wizarding world has ever seen.

Nobody will be able to stop them. Not those purebloods who will hate her for being half-Muggle, not those who will hate Evan for being Muggleborn, and definitely not spiteful, _worthless_, mean or ignorant _Muggles_…

"And, will it really come by owl?" asks Evan, his voice sounding less and less unsure, and more and more hopeful.

"Normally." Severina replies. "But, you're Muggleborn, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents."

The flicker of doubtful uncertainty returns. Evan pulls his bottom lips between his teeth briefly, his shoulders tensing, and asks, "Does it make a difference, being Muggleborn?"

It is Severina who now pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

The answer to his tremulous question is undoubtedly, yes. Especially in _these_ times, when the Wizarding world grows more and more restless, and the elusive yet determined Dark wizard some call Lord Voldemort is pushing for the permanence of the ideals that the Traditionalist and Isolationist factions have wanted for centuries. It certainly matters to Grandfather and Grandmother Prince, who despise Muggles far more than the Mudbloods they birthed. It even matters to Mother, who has muttered on more than one occasion that she should have picked a _Mudblood_, as opposed to a _Muggle_; at least with a Mudblood, they would _understand_ magic and would not punish her for being a witch.

But, Severina cannot tell this to Evan, who is already fearful and uncertain enough as it is.

She wants Evan to want to be apart of the Wizarding world, she wants him to feel good about being a wizard, and eventually going off to Hogwarts. She studies him, drinking in his handsome face, the thick waves of hair which the sunlight glitters off of like a river of rich wine, the feline-like jade green eyes set inside a face seeming to be crafted from but is strong nonetheless.

It won't matter with him, she realizes - not someone as perfect and wonderful as him.

"No. It doesn't make any difference."

And, Severina thinks, while it isn't exactly the _truth_, neither it is an outright _lie_. To those who are aren't Traditionalist or Isolationists, but rather, Inclusionist or Modernist, it won't matter that Evan is Muggleborn.

"Good." Evan relaxes, a relieved smile coming to his face, and Severina feels her heart soar that she has indeed made him feel good about himself.

Wanting him to feel even better, Severina finds herself speaking in a tumble of words that make her heart race. "You've got loads of magic," she gushes, "I saw that. All that time I was watching you…"

Severina realizes exactly what she is saying, though, within moments, and allows her words to trail away. Her cheeks heat with embarrassment, but she is placated by the fact that Evan does not seem to have heard her. With a wistful, dreamy look, Evan leans back on the leaf-littered ground, and tucks his arms behind his head. He seems a million miles away from the shaded enclave, as his eyes stare up at the canopy of sunlit leaves. Inevitably, Severina finds herself drowning in the image of him once again, only bothering to float back into the present when Evan speaks again.

"How are things at your house?" he asks, gently.

Severina only realizes her hand is going to the reddened welt on her face halfway through the motion, and instead forces her hands to do something else. The lush green leaves are soft to the touch, but she is uncaring of this fact as she begins shredding them in her grasp, a scowl coming to her thin face. "Fine."

"They aren't arguing anymore?"

"Oh yes, they're arguing." _And Daddy's still hitting_, she adds silently to herself. The leaves are unrecognizable shreds in her hands now, the sticky sap leaking onto her fingers mournfully. Severina does not want to talk about this, not here, not now, when she is with Evan and her world has balanced itself into perfection. When she is with Evan, nothing bad should happen, nobody bad should be _mentioned_, and everything should remain as perfect and pleasant as it has always been with him. "But, it won't be that long, and I'll be gone."

Evan props himself up on his elbows, his jewel-like eyes studying her in that special way of his, that way that makes her believe that he can see right into the very core of herself. "Doesn't your dad like magic?" His tone is colored with a slight air of bemused indignation, as though he can't possibly imagine anyone _not_ loving magic.

Severina thinks about all the things that Daddy doesn't like, all of the things that makes him glare, swear, and strike. There are a lot of those things, especially when he comes back home with yet another rejection towards employment or when his spidery hands are clutched around a bottle of liquor. But, no matter if he is sober - a true rarity, and barely a reprieve from his spiteful and turbulent ways – or if he is drowned to the point of unconsciousness, magic is always at the top of the list of Things That Daddy Doesn't Like.

Always.

"He doesn't like anything, much." Severina murmurs, her tangled, oily hair falling over her face as she ducks her head low in order to hide the slight glassiness her eyes have acquired. She blinks hard, furious at herself for nearly crying. She hasn't cried in several years over anything that Daddy might have done to her, and it is silly that she should have the urge to do so now, in front of Evan, and in the midst of such a perfect moment.

Evan apparently realizes that Severina truly does not want to talk about her parents, their arguing, or her father's likes or dislikes, and thus, changes the subject. Severina is inwardly glad; anymore prying on his part, and the hot tears which she has effectively reigned it would certainly begin to flow.

"Say, Severina?"

A thrill rushes through her when he says her name. She sounds slightly breathless, as she replies, "Yeah?"

"Tell me about Dementors again."

Severina frowns. Whatever she was expecting to follow the dizzying sound of her name flowing from his mouth, it wasn't this. "What d'you want to know about those for?"

Evan shrugs, that air of uncertainty floating around him again. "Well, if I use magic outside of school again – "

"They wouldn't give you to the Dementors for _that_!" Severina proclaims, incredulously. She has heard of wizards going to prisoner for murder, rape, stealing, treason, perform the Unforgivables - but never for doing magic outside of Hogwarts before coming of-age. "Dementors are for people who do _really_ bad stuff. They guard the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. But, you'll never go to Azkaban, you're too – "

She catches herself, this time, though, before she can reveal what she truly believes Evan Lillian to be. Her hands are working overtime in shredding the leaves, as color rises in her cheeks. A moment of silence drifts between them, Evan goes to say something else, but before he can –

A rustling, a sound that was absurdly out of place in their secluded enclave, caught both of their attentions. Black and green drifted over to the sweeping oak tree a few meters away, and Severina feels a sudden spurt of loathing and fury burst within the pit of her stomach at the sight of Petunia Lillian.

The blonde girl, who bore something close to resemblance but not immediately noticeable to the boy laying on the grass across from her, looks alarmed at having been discovered eavesdropping. Severina leaps her to feet, becoming more furious by the moment.

How dare she – the Muggle, the _Muggle_ who made Evan _doubt_ his magic – invade _their_ secret spot, how dare she spy on them? Severina glances at Evan, but instead of seeing him similarly outraged, she finds he is grinning at his sister happily. A new feeling coils around the storm of fury, and though Severina cannot quite identify it, she knows that it perfectly describes how much she _hates_ that Petunia has invaded their secret spot and has commandeered Evan's attention.

"Hello, Tuney!" Evan says, cheerfully, sitting upright. He is downright _happy_ to see his bloody Muggle sister, and Severina _hates_ it.

"Who's spying now?" demands Severina, furiously. She is too angry that this Muggle has ruined the wonderful perfection and magic of their time together to notice how Evan is frowning at her, taken aback by her sudden shouting and visible fury. "What do you want?"

"I wasn't – I'm not –s" Petunia is desperately grasping for words, something that will both justify and excuse her having been caught spying. Her ice-blue eyes dart between Evan, who is intensely staring at Severina, and Severina herself, who is nearly shaking with anger. Something shifts in her eyes, and she is suddenly all sneer and spite. "Nobody was spying on you – who would want to spy on _you_ anyhow, with your greasy hair and ugly face!"

The jab at what she hates the most about herself – her awful, tangled, unkempt hair and her too-thin, sallow-complexioned face that is dominated by the _awful_ hooked nose common to the Snape bloodline – makes Severina see red. Before she quite knows what is happening, she focuses in on the thickly branched tree the Muggle is standing by, and wills it to move, _demands_ that it _bend_ to her will, _forces_ it to _obey_ her -

_CRACK_!

With an earsplitting the thickest branch of all is suddenly wrenched away from the rest of tree, splinters of wood flying about, the family of sparrows shrieking in alarm as their home tumbles to the ground without warning. Severina takes a deep and burning pleasure in watching the branch cut through the warm summer air and soundly connect with Petunia's shoulder. The force of the blow sends the stunned girl staggering back a few steps, and without several shocked blinks, she then bursts into tears.

Evan now springs to his feet, using one of the words that Daddy often uses when he is at his angriest to express his shock at what has just transpired.

"_Tuney_!"

However, his call is totally unheeded.

Evan spins on his heel, his hands clenched into tight fists and his eyes that shade of icy jade green that Severina cannot help but be amazed at. But, her amazement dies away as she realizes that the burning wrath in his eyes is directed at _her_. As fast as Petunia darts off, her sobs echoing after her, Severina feels her wrath fizzle out into the barest sparks. What had just drained out her seems to have been absorbed with a vengeance by Evan, though.

"Did you make that happen?" demands Evan, the two inches of height he has on her seeming to be an entire meter as he looms over her. "Did you make that branch fall on Tuney?"

"I – I –" Severina flounders under his enraged glare, but she tilts her chin upwards in defiance, anyhow. "No!"

Whatever spark of magic, serenity, or surrealism that the afternoon once held has been completely snuffed out, like a flickering flame of a candle. Desperately, desperate to grab and preserve the perfection and warmth they had shared before that bloody Muggle Petunia ruined everything, Severina steps closer to Evan. She swears her heart locks up in her chest when Evan instead lashes out a hand and forces her to reclaim the step she had taken forward with a rather harsh shove. Everything in his glittering green eyes screams that he wants nothing to do with her in this moment.

"You did!" And, moves back several steps for good measure. "You _did_! You _hurt_ Tuney!"

Severina feels as though she is drowning. She doesn't want Evan to hate her. She doesn't want Evan to be mad with her. But, most of all, she doesn't want Evan to not want her. She doesn't care that her voice is straining with desperation as she tries to move towards him again.

"No – no, Evan – I didn't – "

But, with that same special gaze, Evan sees right through her lie. She can't understand why he is so angry with her, she doesn't understand why he wants to get away from her so terribly. That Petunia is just a _Muggle_ – a bloody _Muggle_. She isn't _special_ like they are, she doesn't share their _magic_, she doesn't even possess an _ounce_ of the mesmerizing wonderment her brother does –

"You did hurt her, you liar." Evan glares at her icily. "I've told you before, you leave her _alone_! D'you understand me? Leave her ALONE!"

Before Severina can say anything, Evan spins away from her, and dashes out of the enclave after his distraught and hurt sister. All too soon, his angry footstep die away, and Severina is left alone, in the suddenly ringing silence.

The tears that she had valiantly tried to hold back before blur her vision, and Severina miserably looks around her.

Not for the first time, she finds herself alone and miserable in underneath the canopy of trees, the shade of the covering of leaves throwing shadows everywhere, and perfectly echoing the gloomy misery she feels inside of her.

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(**Author's Note**: I just keep getting prouder and prouder of myself with these chapters. Of course, only _you_ can tell me what this fic is really like, but in my opinion, I think I'm doing quite the fair job of this. The canon scene wasn't as dramatic or confrontational, but I feel that as a boy, Lily would have been angrier and more confrontational because he is naturally overprotective of his sister; Severus would have been more emotional, as stereotypical as that sounds, so that's why she acts as she does.

But, what I think is really neither here or there. Tell me what _you_ think with a review or two, as always.)


	4. Should Not, Cannot, Will Not

(**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **Translation**: I'm okay, I don't need hundreds of millions of dollars, worldwide fame, brilliant authorial skills, and the honor of having one of the bestselling fantasy series of the twenty-first century. I'm perfectly fine being flat broke, utterly forgettable, rather fair at writing, and not a completed or published novel to my name. Really.)

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**SEEK NOT MY HEART

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**

_One measure of friendship consists not in the number of things friends can discuss,  
but in the number of things they need no longer mention._**  
CLIFTON FADIMAN

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**

**IV**. Should Not, Cannot, Will Not

_OCTOBER 1969  
_

He wants to be angry with her, absolutely furious with her.

He wants to glare at her when he sees her, refuse to speak to him when she sees him, and firmly swear that he will never talk to her again. He should, after all. The girl had hurt Tuney with that branch, hurt her so badly that she now carries around an angry, rusty reddish brown bruise on her shoulder. She often complains that it hurts, swears she can't do her chores about the house because her arm just hurts _so terribly_. That – he can't use the word _awful_, or some reason, though she deserves it, he's _tried_ and he finds that he just _can't_ – Snape girl _meant_ to hurt his sister, _wanted_ to her sister, all because she wanted to come and be apart of their discussion, wanted to come into their secret spot. He should erase her from his memory and never think about her somewhat strange and admittedly forceful, unsettling little self ever again.

But, no matter how hard he tries, Evan cannot stop thinking about Severina Snape.

It has been nearly three whole weeks since he stormed away from her and their secret spot. Three weeks of alternating between fuming that she dared hurt his sister for any reason, frowning because he can't understand why he would _want_ to be around anyone who didn't like and wanted to hurt his sister, and sulking around because he so desperately misses her. Three weeks of being told off for slacking in household chores and other things he is supposed to be doing, reprimanded at school nearly everyday for not paying attention and failing to complete assigned work on time. Three weeks of snapping and hollering at his sister, then feeling _guilty_ for snapping and hollering at his sister, then being _angry_ for the reason _why_ he feels guilty for being mean to his sister.

Three weeks of an aching, burning grip of loneliness that surrounds his heart like prickly thorns.

Evan has never quite missed anyone as much as he now misses Severina. He can't understand _why_, of course, he misses her. But, he does. That's all this has to be, this longing ache: missing the girl who he quite believes is – or, perhaps, _was_ – his best friend.

That is something he has pondered over these confusing three weeks, the fact that Severina is what he has come to think of as his best friend.

He knows that boys and girls can be friends. He is friends with any number of girls in the neighborhood, girls about school. Girls can be downright _weird_ and _annoying_ sometimes, giggling about one thing or another, talking about _silly_ things such as clothes and boys and their mummy's makeup, marrying Prince Andrew and being a real live _princess_. At least, Tuney does all of that, seemingly all the time. She is thirteen now, doing things that are absolutely _stupid_ in his opinion, because he can't join in and do it as well.

But, not all girls are silly, flowery girls who yell at him for bring frogs home from the river and catching geckos from the garden to make pets out of. Not all girls hate football and the way he gets all sweaty and dirty after a rousing game. Not all girls find him annoying and _such a boy_, now that they are becoming a 'young lady'.

Severina is not any of those things, is hardly a girl at all.

Severina gladly comes down to the river with him, mucking about in the mud to catch frogs, which she says can be important for making certain potions. Severina doesn't mind getting dirty and wet, for the sake of discovering things and exploring them. She often meets him the next day, frowning and sometimes with a welt or two; Evan suspects that her mum was right ticked for messing up her clothes the way she does when they go about exploring the riverside. She finds his pet geckos interesting, helping him to name them after important wizards or powerful spells.

She doesn't play football – not that Scottie and Clive will let her, scorning her like the rest of the neighborhood kids and writing her off for being a _girl_, until Evan tells them off and glares at them with what Dad calls his angry eyes – but she is content to sit off to the side and watch him, enraptured. She doesn't care one whit about the dirt or the sweat that coats him afterwards. She actually listens as he raves about Manchester United, tells her everything he knows about the game, shares with her how he might well want to be a footballer when he grows up.

Severina hardly seems to notice that he is a boy, except for those odd moments when she starts to say something and then shuts her mouth tightly. These moments are when Evan suspects that Severina _might_ be a girl, might be one of those dreaded girls who bat their eyelashes at him and try to hug him and sometimes, to his _absolute horror_, tries to _snog_ him. He _hates_ that, those girls who think he is 'cute' or 'fancies him'. He doesn't have any use for girls, girls who acts like _girls_, and Severina seems to know this without being told.

She seems to know several many things about him without him having to tell him.

Those dark, fathomless eyes are so intense, hold such force for someone so spindly and undersized, that he gets the feeling that she is attempting to look right into his very center. Those powerful stares sometimes make him uncomfortable, give him the feeling that he is being dissected layer by layer with each passing second she looks at him. But, there is something about her intensity that he likes. It was those intense and concentrated moments are when she comes alive, sheds that surly and somewhat off-putting persona of hers. He likes to see the spark in her eyes, likes to hear the fervor in her voice, see the animation her face.

He likes the way she creates this funny but somewhat nice feeling she creates in his chest, when she talks so enchantingly about magic and power, how they will be the best wizard and witch the Wizarding World has ever seen, how brilliant of a wizard he will be once he's trained up nicely, how he is the most powerful wizard she has ever met with such strong magic in him. He misses the funny but somewhat nice feeling she creates in his chest. He misses it a lot.

Evan knows he absolutely shouldn't miss her, shouldn't think about her, shouldn't want to be her best mate again.

He knows he shouldn't –

But, he cannot help it and the need is so strangely powerful, it threatens to drive him crazy.

He must look like some sort of nutter, as he sits in the upstairs bay window staring moodily out through the somewhat chilled glass at the autumn twilght, for his dad pauses as he comes out of his study across the hall and looks at him closely.

"Quite the long face you have there, Tiger." Henry Lillian declares.

Evan has declared himself time and time again that he hates that nickname, that he absolutely doesn't want his dad using it in front of his mates. But, secretly – he likes it. Tigers are strong and powerful and intimidating, amongst the biggest and fiercest cats in the world. And, to be the strongest and most powerful and most intimidating and the fiercest in this moment, when he feels somewhat like a drowned kitten, heartens him.

But, he is not heartened enough to give his dad a true smile, as Henry comes to stand closer to him.

"My face is always long," he intones, his voice rather flat and listless. "It's Mum's face and you've always said Mum has a long oval of a face."

Henry breathes something of a laugh. "Jokingly, Tiger. I think your mum is the most beautiful woman to ever walk this planet, and tell her that far more than I pick fun at the shape of her face."

Evan hums in agreement. Iris Lillian is indeed quite the beauty, the most beautiful woman Evan has ever seen in his life. Hair that is the same shade of dark-red as his own, smooth porcelain skin that has acquired soft brown freckles across the bridge of her nose from years in the sun as a botanist, the slender build that both he and Tuney have inherited, and striking ice-blue eyes that glitter like pale sapphires nearly all the time all conspire to make heads turn when Iris enters any room and Evan is always proud to say she's his mum.

But, unlike Tuney, who seems to obsess over how to make herself look like the statuesque models in her girly magazines, Mum hardly cares how she looks most times. She is more concerned with her adored plants, more concerned with discovering everything there is about the flora that blooms all around them, and lately, more concerned with blending the traits of the most flowers to create a flower all her own. His mum can be found with dirt under her stubby fingernails, greenish stains on her fingers from the various green plants she tinkers with, constant earthy smells to her that doesn't always fade with a hot shower.

Severina doesn't care what she looks like as well, enjoys mucking around with him in the outer doors, and likes attempting to create potions with ingredients found around the neighborhood but which are ineffective because they hold no magical properties, much like Mum.

The thought of his possibly-erstwhile best friend, his much-missed best friend draws his rather morose sigh from him and his shoulders slump more pronouncedly.

Henry studies him for one long moment, then unexpectedly hauls him up from where he sits, takes his seat, then seats him right on his lap.

"Dad!" Evan shrieks in, attempting to sound like the dignified nine-year-old he is. He is far too old to be sitting on his father's lap, far too old to be cradle like some sort of baby. But, he can't help but sink into the solid and reassuring warmth that his father's broad frame provides. Something of a pout forms on his lips, the even more undignified gesture reinforcing the absolute childishness of this whole situation. "I'm nine years old. I'm not a little baby anymore, I'm too old to sit on your lap."

He wiggles half-heartedly, but Henry only tightens his embrace around him.

"Too right, Tiger – you're nearly as long as me, twice as heavy as you were as a tyke." Henry grunts, shifting him to emphasize his point. "But, you're always going to be my little boy, no matter how old you get."

Evan grunts in return. "What if I get two and a half meters tall and get to weight forty stone? Still gonna be you're 'little boy'," – there is no little amount of contempt in this moniker – "if I'm all that?"

Henry nods firmly. "Yes, sir, indeed."

Another grunt, more wiggling. Something like disagreement, from which comes the half-intelligible, "Not a little boy."

"Well, you're certainly acting the part, all folded up in the window with your face so twisted up you'd think something was eating away at you." Henry pressed pulled him tightly against himself and Evan snuggled into it, despite the earlier wiggling away. He needed this, as much as he didn't want to admit it, the warmth and the love and the caring. Mum was loving and doting in her own way, but Dad was far more understanding and not so quick to smack down scorn and judgment as Mum was. "Now, tell me, Tiger – what's the matter? What has had you in such a funk these past three weeks?"

Evan stiffens in surprise.

Dad has noticed, these long and agonizing three weeks he has been away from Severina, that the longing and confusion, anger and guilt that is indeed eating away at him? He hasn't done anything about, then. Mum snaps right back at him for being rude and nasty to Tuney, yells when he doesn't do what he needs to around the house, and often tilts her pert nose in the air when he is being especially difficult; but, Dad hasn't done anything for than quietly, yet firmly, tell him to straight up and do better. Evan likes being fussed at as much as the next kid, but he must admit that if he has to be fussed at, he would rather it be by his dad than his mum.

Especially if it eventually comes to this, a pause in what he knows to be quite the busy time for Henry to sit down with him and find out what is troubling him. Mum bothers, of course, because she is his mum and does care; but, she bothers only as much as he'll tell, she doesn't bother with trying to ease it out of him like Dad does.

Evan sighs, deeply, the exhalation of a troubled breath seems to come from the very bottom of him. He is quite for a moment and Henry lets him be. Then, everything comes out in one large and streaming rush.

"I'm not talking to Severina anymore, not since she hurt Tuney – she's my best mate, though, and I miss going to the park and going to the river and listening about how to make potions and practice our magic – I'm not _suppose_ to like her anymore, I'm not _suppose_ to want to be around someone who hates my Tuney and wants to hurt her – but, I _can't_ stop wanting to hang out with her, I _can't_ stop missing seeing her everyday, I _can't_ stop thinking about how much I hate not having her as a best mate anymore – I wish she wasn't so awful to Tuney, but Tuney always starts it and everyone picks on her and bullies her and Tuney shouldn't do that because Severina is my best mate and she should try to get along with her because she's my friend and I like her – she understands me better than anyone I've ever met, not like you all or my other mates who think I'm a nutter for having magic or can't tell them I've got magic at all – when you get to know her, she's really smart and really nice to me and likes to do all the same things I like to do and she listens to me and she likes me for who I am and not who she thinks I should be and wishes I was – and, I just want my best mate back, I'm lonely without her because she is the only one who is like me around here and understands me and I won't ever find anyone like her again – "

On and on it goes, more and more pours out. Everything he has been keeping in since that early October day when everything became so ruined and he wasn't quite sure how it all happened. The twilit sky darkens until the night is shadowy and pleasant, he shifts every now and then as he feels the feeling go out of his legs from sitting on his dad's lap for so long, and Henry listens patiently, humming every now and then and murmuring words of understanding.

"- I just – I just – I don't know. I just want to make things better, make them like they were before she hurt Tuney and I had to start hating her."

Evan inhales one long breath, then lets it out again after pausing just as long. Somehow, simply talking and talking and talking has brought upon him an exhaustion that is making his eyes burn and his throat feel all tight. The longer the silence stretches the blurrier his sight gets, until he feels drip-drops of moisture falling upon his upturned hands.

He is _not_ crying. _Absolutely_ not. He is _not_ crying over someone who hates his sister and wants to hurt her, someone who _did_ hurt her. He is _not_ crying over something as stupid as not talking to _a girl_ who he _should_ hate quite strongly at this moment for being _so horrible_ to someone he _loves so much_. He – is – _not_ – _crying_ –

But, the sniffles and the gulps, the soft shaking of his shoulders and the completely embarrassing whimpers that are steady in coming prove that, not matter how much he denies it, how much he hates it, no matter how much he doesn't want to –

Evan Lillian is crying over the lost of his best friend, simply because it hurts that much.

Henry doesn't make those similarly embarrassing hushing noises, he doesn't coo in the way Mum would if he had started blubbering like some sort of nancy the way he was now. He simply tightens the embrace in a way that should be tightly uncomfortable, but that soothes him far more than hushing and cooing and, more than likely, rather wet kisses his mum would give.

The tears fall more erratically, in less of a steady pattern than they have been. The gulps and whimpers and shoulder-shaking ease into nothingness almost as fast as the tears stop. But, the sniffles continues, and Henry doesn't reprimand him as he usually does when Evan wipes his running nose on the back of his hand.

"You know what I think, Tiger?" Henry asks, quietly. The somewhat-but-not-quite whimper Evan gives is enough of an answer and he continues, "I think that while you're quite angry that your best friend would dare hurt your sister, you also realize that she didn't mean to hurt your sister. You realize that she made a hurtful mistake, but you can't exactly figure out whether to forgive that mistake, because it was so hurtful. Am I right?"

Evan thinks about it for a moment, then nods jerkily. "But, she – Dad, Severina did it – she _meant_ to hurt Tuney, she _wanted_ to. She looked at that branch and made it crack down off the tree and hit Tuney on her shoulder!"

Evan can tell without looking that Henry is frowning. Evan knows that he has heard the wailing account from Tuney, the spitting mad tirade from Iris, and the furious elaboration from himself. But, while his dad is upset, he made nothing close to the huge fuss that his wife and children did over what that "filthy, horrid little wretch", as Iris swears, "that awful, ugly Snape girl", as Tuney declares, and "my so-called best mate", as Evan fumes, has done to faultless Tuney. His quiet opinion on the matter is that while the girl was wrong for intending to hurt Tuney, from what he understands of this magic they both have, she might not have been completely responsible for what happened.

Again, he voices this, but something stubborn in Evan won't acknowledge that it made quite a bit of sense and made it far more easier to forgive Severina.

"Well, I can't say I understand all of this witchcraft and warlock business you and Severina have going on – "

"I'm a wizard, Dad. Boys are wizards, not warlock or whatever."

"I'm stand corrected, then. Whatever this magic is all capable of, but if what I've witnessed since you were a wee little lad, most magic is out of your control. You've said that it won't properly be under control until you're trained up right at this Hogwarts school?"

"Yeah. I'll get the letter when I'm eleven and someone will come to from the school and really explain it all to you and Mum. Then, I'll go off to school in September and start being trained."

Henry hums, sounding rather uncomfortable about sending his youngest off to boarding school for the next seven years, entrusting him to a world that will be inaccessible to the rest of his family and might ultimately take him away from this world altogether. But, Evan is excited, the thought of Hogwarts and the Wizarding World lighting that familiar warmth in his chest at the same time a stab of remembrance about the witch who told him all of this in the first place pokes at his heart. More sniffles, a watery sigh.

"Well, then, my opinion is that until you know how to use something properly, you can't be fully blame if something goes wrong." Henry says. "I think it's the same as if you try to drive the car to the market few blocks away, but crashed into someone's house only a block or so away. You have no idea how to properly work the car beyond steering and accelerating, you can't be blamed completely if you lose control and crash somewhere. Correct?"

"But," Evan sniffles, hiccupping somewhat, "but, what if you know that being angry and wanting something to happen will make something happen, if you concentrate long enough? Severina knows if you concentrate hard enough, if you want it to happen, it does happen! And, she wanted that branch to fall on Tuney, she wanted to hurt Tuney because she was mad that Tuney wanted to come sit and talk with us!"

Henry leans away from him, more of a frown on his face. "Really, now? You can make things occur simply by willing it to occur?"

Evan is proud, despite his sadness, and nods eagerly. "Yes. I've done it loads before and I'm getting loads better at it, too."

"Do you think…" Henry looks hesitant, as though he shouldn't be asking but can't quite help himself, but continues, "Do you think you could show me? A little, I mean, not too much – "

Evan smiles for the first time in what feels like days. Dad – unlike Tuney and Mum, though Mum is getting better as not being afraid of it and trying to understand it – loves everything about his magic, is absolutely fascinated when seeing it in action. He nods, somewhat shyly. He wipes his nose again and wiggles, the silent signal that he wanted to be let down. Henry obliges.

His jewel-like eyes glances around the hallway, searching for something that can be used for demonstrative purposes, to show how much control he is gaining over his fantastical gift and how powerful he will be as a wizard. His eyes for on a porcelain, antique jewelry box that was given to his mum by her mum, Grandmother Forrester, on her wedding day, an heirloom for Forrester brides for several decades. Her mother adores it, adores how it enchantingly plays "Moonlight Sonata" whenever opened, sometimes stops in the middle of the hallway and opens it, just to listen and remember.

It is not to be touched, it is not to be removed from the high shelf it sits on. But, Evan wants to show how powerful and controlled he is, how he excelling ages before he is ever formally trained.

His eyes, reddened and somewhat watery, but sharp and concentrated in all their green brilliance comes to rest exclusively on the adored treasure.

He _wills_ the music box to float upwards of the shelf and then out to him, he _wants_ the heirloom piece to begin slowly lifting from the shelf and drifting lazily towards him. It takes a moment, but the magic rises the more he commands it to, and with it, the music box rises. Higher and higher, comes further and further out, it's floating above the gleaming wood floor as thought suspended by invisible strings. He feels proud that his second attempt at prolonged levitation has worked, that he has accomplished something that he somewhat got the first time around –

"Evan, no! Not your mother's heirloom music box – she'll have kittens should you break it by using magic on it!"

Henry startles him, breaking his concentration, breaking his eye contact with the target of his magic. There is one long moment where it remains suspended in the air, languidly floating in the air, then –

**CRASH!**

Father and son are stare down horrified shock at the treasure heirloom, sitting cracked clean in two down the middle and spilling out springs and cogs and screws. Broken glass twinkles mockingly in the warm golden light of the wall sconces and bits, pieces, and slivers of delicately decorated porcelain are spread like lumped, somewhat powdered dust on the floor. Evan quite believes his previously aching heart has stopped altogether, simply seizing up in his chest for fear of beating another second. Behind him, Henry gasps, then swears violently under his breath, an uncharacteristic gesture from him.

From her bedroom, where the door had been ajar and odd bursts of her beloved Beatles had floated out into the hallway, Tuney peeks her head out of the door. She scowls as her ice-blue eyes sweep the hallway for the source of the sudden crash. And, when she finds it, there is another beat of shocked silence, before Tuney gasps as loudly as Henry had a moment ago.

"Mummy's heirloom box is broken!"

Henry leaps up from the window seat, his eyes darting towards the staircase as if fearful that his wife had heard the crash all the way from her greenhouse out in the backyard. He reaches out and grips Evan's shoulders, Evan barely wincing at the biting contact. "Fix it! Fix it now, before your mum comes back inside!"

Evan flounders under the sudden pressure. "I can't – but, I – "

"You broke it with magic, use magic to repair it!" hisses Henry. He sounds frantic and panicked, unlike the calm and collected man he usually is. His eyes are locked onto the staircase, waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps or something similar. "Now, Evan Charles, right this minute!"

The pressure on his shoulders is enough to make his knees buckle and the way his father seems on the verge of dropping a litter of kittens himself makes his heart thud erratically in his chest and his breath hitch nervously in his throat. But, looking between the sour look that has replaced Tuney's surprised expression, glancing upwards at the panic on his dad's face, Evan decides this is no time to choke up. Pressuring and unexpected situations would undoubtedly come up in his future, with such an unpredictable and somewhat uncontrollable entity like magic surrounding him. It might seem silly, but what if choking up or acting at once was the difference from getting hurt quite terribly or getting away?

Something akin lightening seemed to strike him right in the heart and without thinking a moment more about it, Evan dropped his eyes back to the broken heirloom box and gathered his magic. He wouldn't panic and falter like a coward, wouldn't run in the other direction from a mess that he had created. He had caused it, so it was now he should be brave, face the facts, and fix it.

_I want you to repair yourself and I want you to do – it – now! Be as perfect and whole as you were before and do – it – now!_

Everyone holds their breath as Evan seems to pierce the broken treasure with his intense, concentrated brilliant green gaze. As his magic builds, the air seems to become alive with something like electricity, something that sweeps over him like pleasantly warm water and makes Henry and Petunia, mere Muggles, tingle with unseen power. The amount of magic that is swirling in the air around this little boy is almost unbelievable, almost too much to be possible from someone so young and totally untrained as Evan Lillian is.

Yet, it is there and cannot be denied.

The intense concentration bears fruit after several long moments, the broken pieces of the music box from infinitesimal to quite large begin to glow with soft, shimmering blue light. There are twin gasps from Henry and Tuney, as they witness actual magic, true magic that they know exists in the youngest Lillian but have yet to physically see. The shattered pieces float upwards, hover, and then, with one dizzying spin that renders it nothing but a bluish blur –

The heirloom music box, Iris Forrester Lillian's pride and joy, the one earthly treasure that she adored more than anything else she owned was as perfect and whole as it had been before Evan's reckless attempt at showing off his magic. Why, there is even somewhat of a brand-new gleam to, one that states that it more perfect and better than before its accident.

The deep sighs of relief that rush from both father and son are identical and Evan cannot help but slump forward, out of nowhere at all inexplicably sleepy. He rubs at his eyes, which burn from the earlier tears and as well from the strange sleepiness that seems to cover him like a thick blanket.

"Thank whatever deity or entity that gave you that magic, Tiger. Otherwise, we might in an extraordinarily significantly amount of trouble." Henry squeezes his shoulders once, then steers him back towards the window seat. "I do believe my curiosity is satisfied and I won't be asking for any more shows anytime soon."

Through hooded eyes, feeling so weighted with tiredness he can hardly keep them open, Evan sees Tuney with her arms knotted across her chest and her lips disappearing into the thinnest of lines. She is upset over the magic, he knows, but he simply cannot help that. He is a wizard, he has magic, and he cannot make it disappear – no matter how much it would please his beloved sister.

He cannot – and he won't.

Not if it makes his dad smile at him in that proud, happy way he is smiling at him now. Evan crawls into Henry's lap all on his own volition, too sleepy to care how much of a baby he might look like or how childish it was to curl up in his dad's lap like a contented cat.

Through a mouth that feels quite like cotton at the moment, Evan mumbles, "M'sorry I broke the box in the first place, Dad. Didn't mean to. Well, I meant to, but I didn't want for it to get broke so badly. Just wanted to prove something."

Henry embraces him, the cradle of his arms warm and strong, so utterly comfortable that Evan feels as though he is already half-sleep. The kiss he drops on the top of his hair, the shaggy waves of red-wine hair soft and somewhat frizzed from the display of such strong magic, is welcomed and makes the nine-year-old smile somewhat. "Quite alright, Tiger – but next time, make an example out of something we aren't sacredly attached to. Such as that ugly vase outside Tuney's door that your Aunt Helen sent this Christmas past."

Evan titters at this. "Sure thing, Dad."

There is quite between father and son, tenderness and love and warmth coursing through them and pouring from them quite freely. Evan is on the precipice of sleep, his weariness so strong he can't even feel the burn of sorrow over not talking to Severina, when he thinks of how proud and delighted she will be when he tells her of this. His father's voice is soft and soothing in his ear, as persuasive and convincing as an angel's when he whispers –

"Now, you see how you got carried away with your magic and ended up breaking something without meaning to? How you meant to do one thing, but it spun from your control and you ended up doing something that could have been quite hurtful to someone you really cared about?"

Evan hums in understanding. He doesn't seem to be able to use his mouth, his tongue to weighted to move and his lips too heavy to part.

"Don't you believe that perhaps Severina did something quite the same as you just did? She intended to use her magic in a certain way and _did_ use her magic, but somewhere between using magic and what happened, something didn't quite go the way as planned. What happened was quite terrible and did terribly hurt your sister, but do you honestly believe that Severina – your best friend and someone you appear to care about quite deeply – would truly want to hurt someone she could see you loved so dearly? Do you believe she is capable of hurting you in that way by hurting someone you loved, no matter how much she dislikes that someone?"

Evan absorbs this, the words floating slowly into his mind and then sinking in as soft as smoke. He thinks, hovering on the edge of sleep so closely that his bullheadedness couldn't possibly exert himself into rejecting the words before he honestly thinks about them. He wonders, searching through what he knows of his best friend, what he believes of his best friend, what he sees in his best friend.

Severina Snape is not what he would have expected in someone he called his best friend. She is not necessarily what he wished for, all those nights and days he hoped that someone who was as different and strange as he was would come along and assure him that this unknown and unexplainable ability wasn't frightening or dangerous or insanity – but wonderful and beautiful and perfectly normal for someone like him. She is not what his family thought he should have in a best friend, as poor and homely and socially graceless as she is.

But, regardless –

Severina Snape is his best friend, someone who his lost and wandering spirit had reached out for, found by chance, and then connected with so thoroughly that being away from her in anyway was something that made his heart ache as though it had become tangled up in sorrowful thorns.

He is nine years old, Evan Lillian is. He is thoroughly boy, interested in dirt and football and insects and exploring and simply living. He notices girls only as far as being somewhat annoying things that everyone says he will come to like quite well the older and more aware he becomes, but could do without as of present moment. He hardly knows what it is to love someone who is not dad or mum or his older sister, his grandparents or cousins or aunts and uncles – someone who is family and he just has to love, because of that.

But, as he slips into further into a sleep that had come on so suddenly and unexpectedly that he could do anything but surrender –

Evan feels in his heart, though he cannot exactly comprehend what it is or what it means at this moment, that this girl – scraggly, not what is considered normal or nice, not what someone would expect a handsome and bright and naturally likeable young boy such as himself to be so attached and connected to – is someone he loves.

She is his best friend, the only one who understands him, the only who knows him seemingly more deeply than he knows himself.

And, he knows that she would never, will not ever do anything to hurt him – intentionally or unknowingly.

Evan sighs, something that feels strangely like peace – or perhaps, it is just the soft stroking of his father's warm and gentle hands running over his hair as he sat there, content and calm – flow over him like the tender and soothing rush of an ocean wave. He snuggles deeper into his dad's embrace, wiggles in an effort to get more comfortable. Then, he breathes out the soft but completely assured answer –

"No, I don't believe Rina would ever do something like that to me." The nickname comes from his mouth unbidden and spontaneously, but somewhere in the back of his mind, it tingles and simmers pleasantly, bittersweet but rather delightful all the same. "She is my best friend in the entire world and I'm her best friend in the world entire world. You don't hurt best friends, no matter what happens. She was meant to make Tuney go away, but she didn't mean to hurt her. So…I forgive her. I don't hate her – can't hate her, _won't_ hate her."

Henry is smiling, Evan can tell again. There is that special hug that comes with that brilliant, warm smile and the special hug is what is enveloping him now. "That's my boy, Tiger."

Evan grins sleepily. "Yeah, I am."

"Now, what do you say to going over to Miss Severina's house and having a bit of chat with her about all of this? I seem to recall you saying you just stormed away and hadn't said boo to her since. Three or so weeks is a long time to not speak to someone, especially someone you care about."

"Three week is a long time, Dad. Too long. I miss her, lots."

"I know, I can tell. So, how does this sound – tomorrow, we go down to Spinner's End and speak to Mr. and Mrs. Snape about allowing Severina to come Trick-or-Treating with us? Halloween is your favorite holiday, which you love far more than Christmas and Easter combined. And, now I rather see that that's explained, my little boy warlock."

"Wizard, Dad," comes the whisper-mumbled reply. "Not warlock but wizard and Rina is a witch…"

A soft sigh, one more wiggle. Evan sleeps contentedly in his father's arms, soothed and without sorrow, peaceable and calmed.

He does not see the array of emotions that flutter over his willowy, blonde sister's face – the most prominent, perhaps, being what has the potential to become a lasting triad of destructive emotions.

Anger, hurt, and jealousy.

* * *

(**Author's Note**: The longest chapter of this story so far, which I do believe you all wholly deserved considering I have been missing-in-action for nearly an entire year – coming up on two years in a another couple of months. If you're still reading, I think you sincerely and promise that from now on, there will be something resembling regular updates. Not every single week, mind you, but something reasonable – every couple of weeks, I suppose.

As well, I do believe that you should go back and read this fic from the beginning – not only to refresh your memory, but because I have tidied up, tightened up, and tinkered around with this fic quite seriously. Nothing major, but some little pretties added to make this more interesting and appealing to read. I would have for you to be confused going forward, because of changes that have been made in edits and rewrites.

So, all that being said –

Find it in your kind hearts to review, please? Tell if I should keep at this?)


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